


Secret dealings.

by MechanicusBob



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 22:53:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18291851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MechanicusBob/pseuds/MechanicusBob





	Secret dealings.

Arlan was hunched over his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose as the young messenger stood uncomfortably in the doorway behind him. Alistair had once more stormed out a conversation with him regarding the future of the Wardens; the only point they yet agreed upon was that contingencies were necessary. They were also yet to agree on who would deliver the final blow to Urthemiel and Alistair had overheard talk between Arlan and Riordan regarding his own fate after the Blight; court martial for dereliction of duty. Whilst trying to discuss matters with Arlan, Alistair had been unable to contain his demand for answers as to why he was to face trial, slating the impending charge of dereliction of duty to be absurd. Arlan’s answer had been an all too thorough dressing-down of his fellow Warden.

The messenger nervously cleared his throat, unsure the Warden had noticed his presence. “Warden Cousland?”

Arlan spun around and snapped to attention, glaring on reflex for a moment before his gaze softened with realisation. He swallowed heavily and cleared his own throat awkwardly.

“How… how much of that did you just see?”

“O-only Warden Theirin leaving, ser. Her Majesty wishes to speak with you in her lounge, mi’ lord. Privately.”

Arlan leaned back onto the desk for a moment, lady luck appeared to be on his side for a moment; a moment he would cling to for all its worth. The Landsmeet was mere days away. Time and options were running out. He sighed quietly, trying to loose the tension Alistair had caused him for so long, before he spoke again.

“Very well… please, lead on.”

The messenger bowed and led Arlan through the winding halls of the palace for several minutes before arriving in the Queen’s private quarters. With another bow, the messenger returned to his post a few feet away from the door and its guards; too far to eavesdrop but close enough to be summoned in an instant. The Queen had already proven to be nothing if not cautious.

 

The lounge was remarkably well lit by the crackling fire and scattered candles. The high book shelves, scattered rugs, and furs atop the settees furthered the air of comfort warmth and plenty; all of which felt like memories from centuries ago for Arlan. Anora sat waiting on one settee beside a small table and two glasses of wine. Arlan noticed a flicker of nervousness in her eyes that matched the one in his gut, they both knew all too well that their futures, positions and perhaps their very lives hung in a delicate balance. Joining the Queen on the settee, Arlan gladly accepted the glass she offered and, for the first time in almost a year, began to relax a little.

“It is good that you came to speak with me, I realise that my… _actions_ at Howe’s estate may not have painted me in the best light. For that I apologise, and hope that we can start again.”

Arlan arched an eyebrow as she spoke. He could hardly blame Anora for fleeing, she wasn’t a fighter by any stretch of the imagination, but her apology was appreciated none the less.

“First, let me say that I knew your family. Eleanor in particular was dear to me, and what Howe did… was unforgivable. Fitting that he died at your hands. I will be blunt. I can see that your voice will be a strong one in days to come; it is to you that Eamon listens, and with good reason… My father must be stopped, but once that is done Ferelden will need a ruler. I would welcome your support for my throne.”

Arlan drank once more and tried to supress the twisting in his gut as Anora’s cold blue eyes studied him. Every word mattered now. The pieces were tantalisingly close to falling into place; all he had to do was keep his nerves in check. The Queen’s beauty was not helping matters.

“It sounds as if you’re suggesting an alliance?”

“That is _exactly_ what I am proposing. When the time comes, you support my bid in the Landsmeet to remain on the throne. You will be seen as my father’s enemy, yet you will be in support of his daughter. You will appear to be supporting the interests of _Ferelden_ as opposed to solely those of the Grey Wardens. In return, I add my voice to yours. Do you see? Together we can do what alone we cannot.”

There was fire in her eyes, Anora knew precisely what she wanted and a thought dared to cross Arlan’s mind.

“What if you had a strong king beside you?”

“Tempting.” Anora sat back and smiled faintly; as if she had almost anticipated the suggestion. “You… are of Cousland blood, it’s true… despite the fact you are also a Grey Warden. It would be unprecedented, but… A man like you would make a fine Prince and Consort. Is that what you are actually proposing? My hand for your support?” She smiled as the idea grew ever more plausible in her mind; the fact she found Arlan to be rather handsome in addition to his political talents and value made the Warden’s proposal all the more tempting.

“Indeed it is, my Queen. Marry me and you have my support.”

“Very well, we have a deal.” Anora smiled and finished her wine, setting the glass beside Arlan’s. “Once I am coronated, I will take your hand as my consort… I trust you will keep your end of the bargain. I… I suppose now comes the task of dealing with my father; that will be no small feat, of course, but I am certain you already know this.”

Arlan noticed the apprehension that had crept upon Anora and memories of his own father bubbled to the surface once more. He had no intentions for Loghain to die at the Landsmeet, regardless of what Alistair had demanded during their meeting. He breathed sharply and strummed his fingers against his leg for a moment before speaking.

“I… I wish that I could promise his safety, but I _can_ promise that his honour and legacy remain intact; he deserves that much. If I-“

 

With a squeeze of his hand, Anora told Arlan all that he needed to know, she had no desire to discuss her father’s fate just yet. The Warden could hardly blame her.

“Thank you.” Her eyes said all that was needed and Arlan took his queue to leave her be for the evening.

“Should you need me, your grace.” Arlan bowed and gradually made his way back to his own quarters. Fate certainly appeared to be turning in his favour at long last; all that remained was to hope that Alistair and the Landsmeet would see sense.


End file.
